“Well, you’d better hurry, or you may have to carry me.”
“Poor baby.” Erika patted her husband’s cheek affectionately.
They made a handsome couple, and Melanie knew that theirs was a happy and satisfying marriage—one that had been strong enough to weather the tragic death of their only child. Though at times Melanie felt smothered by their acute interest in her life—and Jerica’s—she also felt blessed that she’d been able to offer them the gift of Rick’s child. Jerica was a precious antidote to their loss. And Melanie knew as well that they had come to love her as their own daughter.
Now Jerica skipped back down the hallway and turned a pirouette in front of the fireplace. The frilly hem of her new tangerine-colored dress swirled about her thin legs, and she curtsied before them.
“Ooh, don’t you look pretty,” Melanie said. “I hope you remembered to tell Grammy thank you.”
“Did I, Grammy?”
“Of course you did, pumpkin.”
“Looks pretty sharp, squirt,” Jerry said. “You’ll have to beat the little boys off with a stick.”
“Grampa! Don’t!” Jerica stamped a tiny foot and furrowed her brow in irritation.
“Oops, sorry. I forgot.” He turned to Melanie. “I was informed this afternoon that Miss Jerica is not, has never been, nor will ever be interested in B-O-Y-S.”
“I see,” Melanie said with mock seriousness. “Well, maybe I’d better get that in writing. It could come in very handy about ten years from now. Do you think this aversion could possibly last until she’s out of college?”
“Don’t count on it, Mommy … don’t count on it,” Jerry sighed. “It will probably—” The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted him. “Go ahead and get that, Mel.” He motioned toward the phone. “We need to be going anyway.”
She went to the table in the hallway and lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Melanie?”
“Yes?”
“This is Joel Ellington, the new CE director …”
“Oh, hi, Joel. How are you?” From the corner of her eye she saw Jerry and Erika exchange glances. Aware that they were listening intently to her end of the conversation, and acutely conscious of the heat that suddenly rose to her cheeks, Melanie turned her back to them.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Joel said. “Listen, I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home. I wondered if we could set up a time to visit about the logo for the capital campaign.”
“Oh, sure. When would be a good time for you?”
“Well, I assume beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll make time whenever it’s convenient for you.”
“We’re kind of swamped right now. Do you mind working on Saturdays?”
“Not at all. Do you mean this coming Saturday?”
“I think that would work. Hang on, let me check my calendar.” She carried the cordless phone to her desk and flipped through her Day-Timer. “Yes, I think that would be fine. Why don’t you meet me at the studio around 10:30? Does that work for you?”
“You bet. Is the office open on Saturday?”
“Well, not officially, but there’s usually somebody in the building. I’ll wait in the lobby for you and make sure you can get in.”
“Great. I’ll see you Saturday, then.”
She put the receiver back in its cradle and turned to face her curious in-laws, feeling the color rise in her cheeks.
“Was it good news, dear?” Erika asked coyly.
“Oh … it was Joel Ellington—you know, the new Christian ed director at church?”
“Oh?” The older woman waited for Melanie to explain.
“I’m going to work on a logo for the capital campaign for the new CE wing.”
“How nice.” Erika said. “Do you want to bring Jerica by while you’re at your meeting?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
Erika waved her question away. “Of course not.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Erika.”
Jerry hauled himself up from the deep sofa, took his wife’s hand and drew her up beside him. “We’d better get out of here, dear, so a certain little girl can get ready for bed.
“Do I get a kiss?” he asked, puffing out one cheek and kneeling to offer it to the child.
Jerica ran to him and planted a noisy kiss on his face. “G’night, Grampa.”
“Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”
“My turn,” Erika said, handing Biscuit to Jerry and bending to repeat the ritual.
Melanie walked them to the entryway, said good-bye, and locked the door behind them.
“Okay, sweet pea,” she said, scooping Jerica up and hoisting her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
With Jerica perched on a stool beside the counter, Melanie fixed a quick supper of scrambled eggs and jelly toast. By 8:30, stories had been read, teeth brushed, and prayers said, and a worn-out little girl was sound asleep under the pink ruffled canopy of her bed.
Melanie was tempted to join her, but as it always seemed to be for a single parent, these were the hours reserved for laundry and cleaning and, if she was lucky, perhaps a stolen moment for a soak in the bathtub and a chapter or two of a bestseller before her head hit the pillow in exhaustion.
Three
Melanie typically used Saturdays to balance the checkbook, catch up on errands, and shop for groceries. Today she ignored the checkbook and left the dry cleaning to be picked up another day in favor of getting her hair done before her 10:30 meeting with Joel Ellington. She drove to the LaSalles’ and dropped Jerica off. The little girl was bubbling about Grampa’s promised trip to McDonald’s for hot cakes.
Darlene Anthony was ready for her when she walked into the salon. While the hairdresser worked her magic, the two of them caught up on each other’s lives.
“So how’s that little girl?” Darlene asked, massaging shampoo into Melanie’s scalp. “Will she start school next year?”
Melanie nodded underneath Darlene’s hands. “It doesn’t seem possible, but I’m afraid it’s true.”
“I saw her a couple weeks ago when Erika picked her up. I couldn’t get over how tall she’s gotten.” Jerica spent mornings at the day care center at Cornerstone, where Darlene moonlighted as the church secretary.
“You should try keeping her in clothes. It seems like every time I turn around she’s outgrown another pair of jeans.”
The older woman laughed. “I remember those days. Of course, I could hand Jeanette’s clothes down to Mary and Beth.” Darlene turned the sprayer on high and began to rinse Melanie’s hair.
“Mmm, that warm water feels great.”
“My mother always says a day at the hairdresser is better than a day at the shrink.”
“Well, I’ve never been to a shrink, but I can’t imagine it’d be any more therapeutic than this,” Melanie said. “How is your mom getting along? I’ve been wondering about her.”
Darlene sighed heavily. “Oh … about as well as can be expected, I guess. We won’t really know if they got all of the tumor for a couple more weeks.”
“Well, Jerica and I have been praying for her.”
“I know you have. And I appreciate it.”
“Jerica has really missed her.” Darlene’s mother, Jeanne Hines, taught Jerica’s Sunday school class when her health allowed.
“Thank you.” Darlene’s voice trailed off, and she was silent as she finished rinsing Melanie’s hair. She turned off the spray and wrapped a towel around Melanie’s head.
“So, how do you like working with Mr. Ellington?” Melanie asked.
“Oh, that man is a doll, that’s all there is to it.” Darlene seemed to welcome the change of subject. “I’m probably old enough to be his mother,” she said, lifting Melanie’s head from the sink and bringing the chair upright in one smooth motion, “but I’ll tell you what, if I were twenty years younger, Joel Ellington would make my heart go pitterpat. Pastor Steele s
ays we haven’t had so many singles attending church since Jeffrey Franzen was the youth pastor. Of course, I wasn’t working at Cornerstone back then, but I hear he was a real looker too.”
Melanie laughed nervously. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she hoped the pink that colored her cheeks would be blamed on the pungent chemicals in the highlighting solution Darlene was preparing.
Darlene didn’t seem to notice. “All I can say is, it’s a good thing they hired someone else. As fast as the membership is growing, we’re going to overflow the classrooms before you know it. They sure are gung-ho on this new building project. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Pastor Steele so excited about anything.” She chattered on as she combed out Melanie’s wet hair.
Melanie tried to keep her attention on what the woman was saying, but her thoughts were tugged to what she’d come to think of as “the Jeffrey Franzen fiasco.” Jeff had served a brief internship as Cornerstone’s youth pastor. He had come to Silver Creek two years after Rick’s death. She’d actually been cautiously pleased to discover that she was attracted to him, having been told by everyone, from her brother to her best friend to her in-laws, that it was time she “come out of mourning and get on with her life.” Barely three weeks into Jeff’s tenure at the church, he had asked her to dinner. They enjoyed each other’s company from the beginning, and for the first time since the death of her beloved husband, Melanie had felt hopeful again. Jeff was a wonderful Christian man, and he adored Jerica. He seemed perfect.
But things moved too fast for Melanie. That Christmas, only four months after they had begun dating, Jeff declared his love for her. She wanted to reciprocate, but when she came home that night and stood in front of the closet in the master bedroom—the closet where all Rick’s clothes still hung—she suddenly felt as though she were suffocating. She called Jeff, crying, not wanting to hurt him, but knowing that she wasn’t ready for another relationship. It was too soon.
Though Jeff claimed to understand and offered to give her all the time she needed, things had never been the same between them. They’d continued to date until he finished his internship, but when his term was up, he took a church in Oklahoma and told her good-bye. She hadn’t heard from him since, nor did she wish to.
Now, two years later, Rick’s clothes still hung in that closet, and once in a while, on an especially difficult day, Melanie would burrow her face into his shirts and imagine that they still carried the faint scent of him. Her rational mind knew that it was emotionally unhealthy—maybe even a little neurotic—to have held on to his things for so long. But the truth was, there never had been anyone who’d inspired her to box up those reminders of him and risk loving again.
Hers and Rick’s had been an extraordinary romance, and when she thought about her life ten or fifteen years into the future, she knew she wanted to know that kind of love again someday. She wanted Jerica to grow up with a father’s love. She wanted more children. But the whole thing with Jeff had scared her. And she wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.
“Earth to Melanie.” Darlene was standing over her, scissors in hand, an expression of amusement on her thin face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Darlene. I was a million miles away.”
“I could see that. Is everything all right?”
She forced a smile. “Fine. I just have a lot on my mind. I’m sorry. Now, what were you saying?”
“Just wondered how you want me to cut your hair this time. Same as usual, or are we going for something different today?”
“No, the same, I think. It’s been working pretty well for me.”
“Good. I think this style really flatters your heart-shaped face.”
Melanie emerged from the salon with bouncy, shiny hair, the few strands of grey that had prematurely begun to plague her transformed for now into auburn highlights.
She caught her reflection in the salon window as she stepped off the curb to get into her car. Darlene had done a good job. Her hair turned under in a smooth wave just above her shoulders. The style did flatter her—and de-emphasized the fine lines that had begun to appear at the corners of her eyes. She wouldn’t have minded being three inches taller and—well, at least five pounds lighter—but for someone who was now on the other side of thirty, she supposed she couldn’t complain.
Other than her every-six-weeks haircuts, she seldom gave her appearance a second thought. Why was she fussing about it today? She shook off the thought and climbed into the car.
When she pulled into the By Design parking lot at a quarter after ten, Joel Ellington was already waiting for her. She parked beside him, surreptitiously checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror before she stepped out of the car.
“Good morning,” he said, turning the key in the door of his white Taurus. He walked around to the other side of the vehicle.
“Hi, there. I can see that you are definitely a big-city boy.”
He looked puzzled.
She inclined her head toward the keys dangling from his hand. “This is Silver Creek, Missouri. Nobody locks their cars here.”
“Seriously?”
“Not in daylight anyway.”
“Wow. That’s refreshing.”
“It is,” she said. “I guess I take it for granted.” She rummaged in her purse for the keys to the studio. “Well, are you ready to get to work?”
“Sure.” He let her lead the way. “I sure appreciate you taking time out of your Saturday.”
“No problem. I enjoy these on-the-side projects. It keeps my creativity percolating.”
“That’s good to hear”—he put a finger to his temple—“because I guarantee you there’s not a single creative spark perking in this brain.”
They entered the expansive lobby, and Melanie smiled to herself as Joel Ellington did what every visitor to By Design seemed compelled to do. He craned his neck to gawk at the leaded glass windows high above them. “This is just incredible,” he told Melanie. “Even more impressive than I remembered from my first visit.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
He nodded, still taking it all in.
She guided him through the labyrinth of stylish work spaces on the first floor. Suzanne was at her computer, and Melanie stopped to make introductions. “Suzanne Savage, I’d like you to meet Joel Ellington. Joel’s the new Christian education director at my church. Suzanne is our senior designer.” Suzanne extended a hand, and Joel shook it warmly.
“Is anyone else working this morning?” Melanie asked the young woman.
“Not that I know of. Actually, I’m about ready to leave. Do you want me to turn the lights and fans off before I leave?”
“No, that’s all right. I’ll get them.”
Melanie’s shoes tapped a pleasant staccato on the hardwood floors as she led the way to the service elevator that went to the mezzanine level and beyond to her office.
“The building looks old,” Joel said.
“It used to be a brick factory,” she told him. “But it sat empty for years. Jerry could tell you the whole history.”
“Well, he’s done a great job with the place. I’m impressed.”
“Wait till you see the view from my office.” Turning a key in the door, she waited for the intricately latticed gates to open, then motioned for Joel to enter ahead of her. She pushed the button for the upper level, and they rode up in silence, gazing out through the latticework to the space below. A few seconds later, the doors glided open to reveal Melanie’s office.
“This is it. Come over here.” She went to the railing that overlooked the main-floor studio.
He followed her, whistling under his breath as he looked out over the rail. Below them, two dozen Casablanca fans whirred lazily, ruffling the kite-shaped sculptures and the vines that trailed over massive hanging pots. “I bet it’s hard not to get inspired here.”
“That’s true.”
“How do they water all the plants?” he asked, gazing over the thirty-foot drop to the floor.
> She pointed to the north wall. “You can see the pulley system over there … don’t ask me how it works—one of Jerry’s inventions again. It’s pretty ingenious, actually.”
“I’ll say.”
They stood side by side, elbows on the railing, appreciating the view. After a minute, Melanie turned to him. “Well, shall we get to work?”
“I’m ready when you are.”
“Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?”
“That sounds great. I haven’t had mine yet this morning.”
She pulled out two tall stools near the high, slanted drafting desk by the railing. “Here, have a seat. Coffee won’t take but a minute.” She went into the tiny kitchenette off the opposite side of the room, rinsed the coffeepot, and refilled it with cold water from the sink. “Hey, we’re in luck,” she called. “Somebody brought up some leftover Danish.” She lifted a flimsy bakery box as proof. “If you don’t mind day-old.”
“Are you kidding? Danish is Danish.”
She served the pastries on napkins, and while they waited for the coffee to brew, she asked him about his ideas for the logo.
“Like I told you,” he said, “I truly do not have a creative bone in my body. I was hoping you would have some ideas.”
“Well, tell me what you want the logo to convey. Hang on.” She slid off her stool and grabbed a notepad and pen from her desk. “Is this something that will go out mostly to church members, or were you wanting it to serve as more of an advertising piece for fund-raisers and such?”
He thought for a minute. “Well, actually, we’ll probably use it both ways. Is there any way to make one design work for both?”
“Sure. That probably makes the most sense anyway.”
She poured coffee, and they set to work. Joel looked on in silence as she flipped through a portfolio of samples.
“I like those,” he said finally, pointing to an ad campaign the firm had done for a large credit union.
“Okay.” She slipped the ad slick out of its plastic sleeve and handed it to him. “What is it that you like about this one? The colors, or the graphics, or just the overall feel the design conveys?”
A Scarlet Cord Page 3